Empty Spaces
by SoItBegins92
Summary: True love is never easy, despite what the story books would have you believe. It's not about grand romantic gestures and happy endings, sometimes it's about the empty spaces in our lives and the walls you put up to protect the people who matter. No one knows that better than Killian Jones. Modern AU/CS.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi there! This is my first story on here so go easy on me :) This is also an official angst warning, there is stormy weather ahead! Still with me? Great! I hope you enjoy the first chapter.**

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 _Today is the happiest day of her life and when I saw her this morning she looked it. I got to see her for all of about two minutes just after breakfast. She was in a white satin robe with curlers in her hair and her closest friends fussing with little meaningless details all around her suite. Her face lit up when she saw me and it made me stand a little taller. I said something sarcastic and Elsa, her best friend and blonde of honor, kicked me out of the suite saying something about how I'm not supposed to see anything until this afternoon._

 _Now it's afternoon. A soft breeze sweeps through the seagrass on the sandbank to our right. It's just enough to make my stifling tuxedo a little more comfortable. I hate ties and black would have been the last color I'd have chosen for a June beach wedding, even in New England. She had to have known we'd be baking in the sun but she liked the way they looked in some magazine; when she asked what I thought the sparkle in her eyes didn't really leave me an option other than agreeing with her. I've never been able to deny her anything._

 _The violinist pulls a long note out of the strings of her instrument and the crowd stands. My brother, Liam, elbows me with a ridiculous smile on his face. I nod politely, but he's possibly the last person on Earth that I want to see right now. My eyes fall to the angel coming down the long aisle stretched out in front of us, I can't look away. She is perfection. She's always been perfect to me._

 _She's killing me in her dress. She skipped the traditional bright white for a toned down ivory and it kisses her pale skin so sensually that it should be illegal. Her gown is unassuming and demure in front but I know how low cut the back is and there's something about the soft curve of her spine that makes my mouth water. Her hair is up for the most part but a few golden tendrils have found their way out of her chignon. I'd like to think they're the same errant strands I'm always tucking behind her ears. In one moment I see everything that she has always been to me: from the cute blonde who shamelessly flirted with me more than she should have to the strong, beautiful woman that she's grown into. Sure, we've had rough patches, years of knowing someone will do that but she's everything to me. Everything. She'll never know how important she is to me._

 _She smiles at me and cocks her perfect eyebrow smugly. She's bloody killing me. I don't think she even realizes what she does to me, what she's always done to me. She'd die of embarrassment if she knew the gloriously depraved things I want to do to her in that dress. If the situation was a little different I'd be pulling that pretty innocent little bodice off with my teeth and spending all night between her thighs reacquainting her soft lips with name, over and over again. She gives my brother a sweet smile and blushes furiously._

 _She hands her bundle of flowers over to Elsa and tucks one of her unruly curls behind her ear. The small diamond studs in her ears catch the sunlight and throw a thousand little spears of light against her hair, bringing out every shade of gold imaginable. She's so beautiful I can't breathe. She paralyzes me and sends every sense I possess into violent overdrive. She's breaking me, ruining me, bloody killing me and she doesn't even know it. As much as I love and adore her, I hate her with equal measure._

 _Everything is about to change. Everything. In a few minutes my life is going to implode in a fiery fucking disastrous mess. After a few verses of bad poetry, the obligatory Corinthians reading, and a jewelry swap the only woman I've ever loved, and probably ever will love, will be Emma Jones—my sister-in-law._

 _Fuck my stupid life._

"Stop thinking so loud, Killian," a very familiar voice breaks through the darkness on the other side of my bed. On nights like these I'm grateful for Belle's thick Melbourne accent, without it I worry she'd sound too much like Emma in the dark. "You're keeping me awake."

"You sure you're not just looking for round two?" I ask even though she already knows the truth. I hate it when she calls me out like this. I'm capable of putting a good show on for most people but Belle's known me for too long and through too much, I'm an open book.

"You say that like round one was something memorable."

"That's unkind, love," I mutter.

"You're thinking about her again." From anyone else it could have been an accusation but not from Belle. She's known love and loss, too, she knows what it's like when the demons won't sleep.

"Her who?" The next thing I know white light is slicing across my retinas and I squint against the brightness. When I manage to crack my eyes open I'm met with skeptical green eyes staring back at me. The light from my bedside lamp flickers through her long dark hair. She's beautiful, she's absolutely gorgeous, I'd be an idiot not to think so, but she's a lot more than that. She's not my girlfriend or anything of the sort; she's my best… well, only… friend and we take our comfort generously in each other. I'm not in love with her, but I do love her. I'd never admit it, especially not to her at the risk of stroking her ego too much, but I sleep better on the nights she stays in my room, even when it's chaste.

"Emma," she says simply.

"Goodnight, Belle," I groan and reach over her to click the lamp off. I met Belle three days after I moved to Los Angeles. I had interviewed at an advertising firm in the valley where she was working as a receptionist. I didn't get the job, but I got her phone number so in the end I came out on top. We went out for a drink with every intention of a one-night stand, so imagine both our surprise when we actually got along and enjoyed each other's company. Belle was fresh off of a break up with a nasty piece of work who did quite a number of her. She was refugee of heartbreak in the City of Angels, just as I was. Our one-night stand turned into a true friendship (with benefits) and eight years later we share a home, a business, and just about everything else.

"Fine, have it your way you big baby. Keep your feelings bottled up in your tiny little dark heart and see how that works out for you.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Emma."

"Stop saying her name."

"Do you think there is any creature on Earth more inept at discussing their feelings than a single British man? That's the lethal trifecta for emotional evolution."

"Alright Sensei, what would you have me do then? Time travel?"

"You know they have these devices for talking, they call them cell phones or mobile phones. How bad could it be to talk to her?"

"Why are you still here?"

"Your bed is more comfortable and I don't feel like walking back to my room."

"You owe me breakfast for this."

"For making sense?"

"For nagging me, it's bad form to badger a man in the middle of the night, lass."

"I'm just saying…" she said with a shrug and settled back down next to me but not together, never together. "It's not easy to watch you do this to yourself, Killian."

"Because you were such a peach for the ages it took to get over the bloody crocodile." I know it's not fair to bring up the ruthless, heartless monster who shattered her heart in a thousand pieces, but I can't help myself.

"You're doing it again, deflecting. The difference between you and me is that I made the choice to put myself back together and move on, even though it was hard and it was painful and I hated it. You're choosing to carry this torch for Emma, regardless of how badly its burning you. If you would just talk to her—"

"Infernal woman, I don't need to hear any of your self help ridiculousness right now. I have an early morning and I need sleep. So if you're going to stay, you'll stay silently."

"Aye, aye, Captain. As you wish, Captain. The woman is better seen than heard, Captain," she snaps and I know I've pushed her too far, she's shutting down. As someone adept at putting up walls I recognize the gesture, but it doesn't change the fact that I don't want to sleep alone tonight.

"Stop that, love," I say as sweetly as I can and grab for her hand to stop her retreat. She doesn't fight me when I wrap my fingers around hers, which is a good sign. She even lets me kiss her hand before she pulls away. "It's been a stressful week at work and I'm just tired. I meant nothing by it."

"I know," she sighs and all the fight is gone from her voice. She kisses my forehead and pulls most of the blankets back over the her side of the bed like usual. "I care about you Killian, I don't like seeing you hurt. Just think about it, ok?"

"Aye, love, I will."


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing good comes from phone calls after midnight. When my clients call me after midnight it's because they fucked up and I need to do a media scrub before the tabloids hit the newsstands at seven A.M… Eastern time. From Los Angeles that's a feat but that's why I'm the best publicist in the business. That's why I can demand a ridiculous monthly retainer from my clients but also why I tend to get stuck with the Tinseltown's biggest screw ups: "bad boys" and "party girls" are gold mines for publicists but they are also a walking disaster waiting to hit the fan. Hence, when my phone rings into the wee hours of the night I immediately wonder who hit a parked cop car or who posted something idiotic on their Twitter. Eight hours ago I wish the phone call would have been that easy.

I was already two brunettes in to my standard Friday night and was ready to crash when my mobile started ringing. This time it wasn't a weepy actress or pissed off rock star on the other end it was Graham Hunter, sweet, pliable do-gooder turned Sheriff of Storybrooke, Maine. His lazy drawl reminding me of everything I hated about the podunk town I grew up in.

 _Car accident. Liam. Drunk driver. Head on. Instant. Liam._

My big brother was dead.

Saint Liam: the Jones brother everyone loved. I loved him too, even if I was shit at showing it. He practically raised me. From what I understand the Jones family was once quite functionally picturesque: honest hard-working father, beautiful kind mother, and a filial golden son. Then I came about, or so the legend goes. My beautiful, kind mother died shortly after I was born and although Liam swore up and down that it wasn't my fault it's a shade of guilt I've never been able to completely shake. My honest hard-working father became a drunkard with a mean streak and penchant for betting on horses and just about anything else. The golden son became the man of the house and de facto guardian to the scourge of the once-lovely family Jones: me. When our honoured father wasn't spending his modest paycheck as a longshoreman on whiskey and wagers he'd never win he was engaged in his next favorite hobbies, petty thievery and neglecting his sons.

I was incredibly fortunate to have Liam. We were five and ten when my father decided a change of scenery would do us all good. It's rather more likely that he fell behind on rent and had already made a considerable list of enemies in London and the move to the States was as much to save his own skin as to give us a chance at a better life. Of all of the places in the world we landed in sleepy Storybrooke, Maine. I loved it; it's right on the coast, Liam says we inherited our love of the sea from my mother who was quite the sailor in her day. The people in town were kind at first, they pretended not to notice our accents or the holes in our clothes. When our father disappeared into the night and never returned, despite Liam promising that he would, they still pretended not to notice. Except for one family, the Charmings. If you want to talk about picturesque family life, they were it: dashing father, sweet mother, and a daughter who was the most beautiful creature I'd ever laid eyes on. The Charmings took care of Liam and me without intruding on us too much. Even as a lad of twelve they allowed Liam to move into the studio apartment above the Sheriff's station, I now know it was because David Charming was at work downstairs every day and kept a close watch on the brothers Jones from a respectable distance. Snow Charming made sure there was always a balanced meal on our table and clean clothes in our closet. And the daughter… Emma Swan; she became our first real friend.

Liam adjusted well to life on our own. He took his responsibilities in stride and became a good man too soon. He made sure I always made it to the bus on time, my homework was always done, and I never wanted for the necessities. He taught me how to sail and how to tie my shoes. He taught me how to be patient and how to be honourable, at least he tried. It's not his fault I was a complete failure as a student. When he enlisted in the Navy at seventeen he had his paycheck deposited to an account David undersigned for, I had no notion at the time but the two of them made sure all of the bills were paid on time and a small portion every month went towards a college fund to afford me choices that Liam never had. He was always the better of the two of us. I tried to hate him for marrying Emma, but I never really could. He is just too good, was too good, I guess. In short, Liam is the best man I've ever and will ever know. I love him, in my own way.

The minutes after hanging up the phone vaporized, everything just sort of faded out as I struggled to make sense of what Graham was telling me. Liam was gone. He was there and fine and now he wasn't. He was just—gone. In hindsight, I think I was in shock when I got the call because it didn't hit me the way it should have. There was only one thing I wanted, needed, to know. Hunter just kept droning on about gathering this and funeral that and that the high school in town where Liam taught History would be helping make all of the arrangements to make things easier for "Liam's wife."

 _Emma._

She was alive.

I haven't seen her in eight years but she haunted my dreams every night for half a decade until I was finally able to sleep. I left Storybrooke three days after she and Liam married and I haven't looked back. I moved to Los Angeles where I thought the salt, sand, and sun would fix me; it took me about eight months to burn through the savings account Liam had set aside for my college education. I happened to fall into a pretty good job at Hood Publicity Inc. and worked my way up to senior publicist. Turns out I had a talent for bending the truth, who knew? Three years ago Belle and I struck out on our own. We're running some of Hollywood's biggest accounts through our own firm now. I have everything I need: good job, full bank account, beautiful women at my beck and call.

None of that makes a difference of course because I'm still a miserable sod. Most days I can pull myself together enough to enjoy what I've earned like any normal person should be able to but every once in a while everything goes to hell. I'll see a girl at a restaurant or hear some stupid song that reminds me of _her_. Then I start thinking about her big emerald green doe eyes and the way she cracks herself up when she tries to tell a joke and I'm ruined. My first five years here I would see her everywhere. She'd be hiding behind my eyes, ready to come roaring back to life the moment that days of exhaustion caught up with me. The worst nights were the ones that were so painfully real that I'd wake up praying to go back to the dream and stay there forever. Things have gotten better. I'm a strictly-brunettes-only man, brunettes with no names are even better. Does it make me a villain? Sure, but it's how I manage.

Now I'm on a plane ticking off fly-over states and counting down the minutes until I'm in the same room as Emma Swan… Jones… whatever, once again. Eight years ago I left on a red-eye without so much as a note to her or my brother. I can't imagine she'll be thrilled to see me again. She's still beautiful and her smile could still stop an entire fleet, I know that much because I still get a ridiculously sentimental Christmas card from Liam every year adorned with the annual over-the-top-coordinated-sweaters-type-photo-shoot photo of the two of them. I wonder if her voice has changed at all or if her eyes are still wide and innocent.

Mostly, I wonder if she hates me and much as I hate myself for leaving.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as I landed at Portland International my cell phone chimed with a new message from Belle:

I'm thinking of you and hoping your flight was good./em emPlease talk to Emma. You have a good heart and you're worthy of everything you want. You're a good man, Killian Jones. Just remember to control your temper and bring me back some maple candies.

I tapped out a quick response and seriously contemplated booking an immediate return flight back to LA. I had to force myself to collect my bags and pick up my rental car. I made it as far as the parking lot before my second thoughts turned into paralysis. It took thirty minutes to even start the car. I pulled over at least five times on the hour drive to Storybrooke, with every intent to turn around and go back to the airport. I've rarely felt the weight of guilt and shame, but it's acutely unpleasant.

Practically the whole town is at the house that Liam and Emma renovated shortly after their wedding when I arrive. Liam always fancied the Victorian on the hill overlooking the harbor when we were boys and he swore that he'd own it one day, master of his manor and what not. We moved in when I was sixteen, Liam had just finished his enlistment and thought it was time to upgrade from the studio above the station. The house came fully furnished with threadbare velvet sofas, a dining set that could best be described as "antiqued," and every issue of _The Bangor Chronicles_ from 1957 to 1985. The whole place was drafty and smelled like cats in the summer and mildew in the winter. The only thing louder than trying to summon hot water from the groaning pipes was the peeling of shingles from the roof whenever the wind picked up. It's a small miracle the place wasn't condemned, but it was home.

Liam and Emma really changed the house up. Aside from appearing much more structurally-sound, the old dark wood paneling throughout the house has been replaced with light maple and most of the moth-eaten furniture is gone and replaced with pieces that looks like at least like they came from this millennium. Everywhere I look there are cloying pictures of the two of them smiling together. There are antiqued metal marquee letters on the wall in the entryway spelling out "LOVE" over a framed copy of their wedding invitation. This old house has come a long way from the brothers Jones' bachelor pad, it's now a bloody Pottery Barn catalogue if Pottery Barn made me want to wash down a bottle of oxycontin with a handle of rum.

Every small town bumpkin I couldn't wait to put behind me eight years ago is decked out in their best black weeping over my dear, sweet brother. "Pillar of the community," "one of the good ones," and all that rot. Saint Liam is back home with the angels now. A few people pat me on the back and wish me well as I make my way through the foyer. I'm honestly surprised that they remember me or even care. I can't help but think that all of the wallowing is self-indulgent pity, every last one of these gits is glad that it's my brother in a body bag and not theirs. They're sorry because Liam was a good man but they don't care, not really. Sure, their kids will miss him at school and people will probably notice his absence at all the slew of asinine town events this place insists on hosting. In a year none of them will give him a second thought. No one is going to care as soon as the next thing comes along; Liam will be just another plot in the cemetery on the outskirts of town.

"I'm fucking hallucinating," a very familiar voice calls from behind me. "The prodigal son has finally returned."

"Miss me, bae?" I smirk at my old friend, Neal Cassidy. In this vanilla town Neal was one of the few people I could routinely count on for a spot of fun and trouble. He slaps me on the shoulder and pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. Over the years it has occurred to me that I didn't just leave Liam and Emma, I left my entire life here as unbearable as it was. Neal and I kept in touch for about a year but we drifted apart. He kept saying he wanted to visit me out in LA but then I got busy and he got busy and things just… drifted.

"Hell yeah, I missed you! How the hell are you?" he smiles and instantly checks himself. "I mean, beside the obvious… you know?"

"I've had a rough go as of late, how about yourself?"

"I can't complain, man. I'm sorry about Liam, it's just… I'm sorry. Your brother meant a lot to a lot of people."

"Speaking of, have you seen—" before I can even finish Neal juts his chin towards the living room; he knows exactly who I'm looking for.

When I see her my chest constricts in on itself and I can barely breathe, it feels like all of the oxygen is sucked out of the room.

My beautiful swan.

She's sitting on the one tacky velvet sofa, that for some inexplicable reason they decided to keep. She's red-faced and puffy-eyed but still smiling politely at everyone who hugs and tries to comfort her but I can tell that her walls are up. Her black dress is a little wrinkled and her hair isn't as smooth as I remember it. It's hard to tell if the dark circles under her eyes are from sleep deprivation or running mascara. She still looks like the angel I've dreamed about every night since I got to LA but she's so broken that it almost brings me to my knees, she's always been unsinkable, untouchable, she's steel. She gives one of her guests a small smile and excuses herself out onto the back deck. I can still see her silhouette through the leaded glass window as she pulls a blanket around her shoulders. She's breathtaking lit up in silver under the moon.

Neal shakes his head and gives me a knowing smile. He knew I was "into" Emma but he didn't know how deep, I don't think anyone did. I didn't even really know until I was too late.

"I'll catch you later, Hollywood. Don't skip town before we get a drink, ok?" Neal says with another pat on my shoulder. I promise him I won't and I really want to keep that promise. I don't have many close friends; in fact, my only actual friend is Belle.

I make my way over to the door, dodging everyone's questioning gaze on the way. They can bugger off. I stand with my hand on the door for what feels like an eternity just watching Emma in the moonlight. She hasn't so much as looked at me all night, she might not know I'm even here. My palms are sweaty and I feel dizzy just seeing her again. I practiced a thousand things to say in my head on the plane but nothing is coming to me right now. I owe her a lot, I know that, she deserves an apology and an explanation and the emtruth/em. I just don't know the words for any of that.

I don't know what to say to her. I don't know if there's anything I emcan/em say that will matter. Words won't bring my brother back and words won't erase the way I've treated both of them. My hand finally turns the handle and I step out with what little confidence I have. She doesn't hear me at first, she's still staring blankly at the night sky. She's always loved the stars.

Flashback

"Your mother said you'd be up here. You'll catch your death out here in this weather," I grumbled as I climbed out of the window onto the flat part of the roof outside of Emma's window. She was hunched over something and has her long hair pulled back in a messy bun. I nudged her with my shoulder when I sat down next to her. "What exactly are we doing?"

"Star charts," she grinned and held up a battered field guide. "My dad gave it to me this afternoon. I thought I'd try my hand at star-ology… or whatever."

"Fancy yourself a sailor, do you Swan?" she just chuckled in response, but when I looked over she was holding the book upside down. "Small problem."

"What?" she huffed indignantly. When I turned her book right side up she mumbled a quick thanks and went back to reading. I was satisfied just watching her furrowed brow and the look of deep concentration in her eyes. "Ugh, I don't get this! I didn't think it'd be so freaking hard."

"Easy, Swan. It's simple once you get the map lined up, give it here," I motioned her over. Without hesitation she sidled right up to me and leaned into my side. "Now start with the Big Dipper here and use it to orient the rest of the map."

"So the Big Dipper and those ones there are all… Ursa Major?"

"Aye, the Great Bear, and that one at the end of the handle there is the North Star. Do you see that bright one there lower on the horizon?"

"Mhmm, what's that one?"

"That's Deneb."

"Deneb?" she mumbled and scanned the map to find it. "Here it is, it's in… Cygnus."

"The Swan," I whispered into her hair and tickled her side.

She giggled beautifully and leaned farther into me, pulling my arm around her shoulders. "I don't even need the book, I have Starlord right here. How do you know all of these?"

"Liam taught me. Our mother was quite the adept sailor, and any sailor worth their salt can read the stars to find their way home."

"Planning on sailing away, Captain?"

"Aren't you?" I was surprised because it didn't occur to me that anyone would want to stay in this small town forever. Emma, smart, charming, beautiful Emma was meant for greater heights than this small town. She just shrugged like the idea of leaving never crossed her mind.

"If you could go any place in the whole world, where would you go?" she asked and flipped to the next page in her book.

"Everywhere."

"Promise you won't leave without telling me?" she asked with the stars shining in her eyes and I wanted to tell her that I would never leave without taking her with me.

"You'll be the first to know, Swan."

Present

The click of the latch closing behind me catches her attention. When our eyes meet I feel the same pull that I've always felt and, for a moment, her gaze is warm and glad. We're fifteen again on the roof of her parents' house and she's staring at me over star maps with hope and curiosity in her eyes. She doesn't manage a smile, but the look in her eyes is enough for me. Her hair catches the moonlight and it makes my throat tighten into a useless knot. Everything I'd planned to say disappears.

"Hello, love," I attempt flatly. She stares at me for a lifetime before she begins to close the distance between us. Bloody hell, I miss her so much. My arms are ready to wrap her up and protect her from the world. My face, however, is not ready for the small handprint that may be indelibly imprinted on it.

"Nice tan, Killian," Emma spits with venom in her voice. She shoves roughly past me and slams the door behind her.

I was not expecting _that_.


	4. Chapter 4

Four long, draining hours later nearly everyone is gone and I'm herding the last few stragglers out the door. I'm knackered, I'm sure Emma is exhausted… wherever she is. There's a stack of casserole dishes on the kitchen island and there's no way that all of them will fit in the refrigerator. The dishes are outnumbered only by the flower vases around the house. I'm sure the fine denizens of Storybrooke will be dropping in unannounced for the next month to check in on Emma. At least until the next crisis comes along, then they'll slowly start to forget.

I always thought she'd make it out of the sticks and end up somewhere big like New York City or Boston. And Liam, he'd seen the whole world while he was in the Navy, places I'd only ever dreamt of, and still he came back and took a job teaching History at the local high school. I never understood why. Once the shine of Storybrooke wore off it was suffocating. I needed to get out and chase the horizon. I suspect Liam knew that early on and never pushed me one way or another.

I appreciate a tidy home as much as the next man, but I don't have the energy or desire to even begin to clean up tonight. All I want to do is take a hot shower, have a bloody drink, and sleep but I can't put Emma out of my mind. We're clearly not on the best of terms, but I still don't like the thought of her huddled up in a corner somewhere crying her eyes out alone. I'd like to get her to eat a little and make sure she gets to bed at a reasonable hour, though I anticipate that she'll fight me tooth and nail on both counts. If I thought I actually had a chance of getting away with it I'd make her dinner and draw her a hot bath.

Just as I nearly commit to battle to get Emma to eat my phone buzzes in my pocket. The ridiculously cheesy smile lighting up the screen makes me smile in return.

"Hello, love," I answer, letting out the breath I didn't even know I was holding, Belle has impeccable timing.

"Hi, hi, I hope it's not too late. You weren't asleep already were you," her voice is bright, but careful, the concern bleeds through clear enough. This is her idea of a welfare check.

"No, I wasn't asleep."

"How are you going so far?"

"Pretty much as can be expected, I suppose," I say and the silence stretches for longer than it should. I know what she wants to ask but she's hoping I'll answer before she has to. "The house is different."

"Good different?"

"Aye, it's alright. It's not as drafty. Very… Williams Sonoma."

"Don't you sound judgy?" she chuckles and something that sounds like the microwave slams in the background. I try not to roll my eyes, I knew the minute I was gone she'd be back to having popcorn and Diet Coke for dinner. "Did you get a chance to see the Charmings?"

"Not today, everyone was indisposed when I arrived."

"Everyone?" and there it is.

"She got her shot in, literally."

"What did you say?"

"Why do you automatically assume it was I who was in the wrong?"

"Because, I know you better than anyone and I know you have a tendency to get under peoples' skin whether intentionally or not."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence. For your information, I simply said 'hello.'"

"Are you ok?"

"Aye, it's fine." I lie. I'm not fine, none of this is fine. I lie even though I know Belle will see through it.

"Killian…" she sighs and it's the same tone she used the other night when she called me out for thinking about Emma. If she ever had children this is going to be the _I'm not mad, I'm disappointed_ tone.

"I'm fine, love, just… long day, that's all." I suddenly miss Belle. In this empty house where I can hear the echo of my thoughts lap against the whitewashed wainscoting I can almost feel the ghost of my brother. I'm certainly no stranger to ghosts in the quiet hours of the night, but it's been many a year since I've had to face them alone. I regret not taking Belle up on her offer to accompany me.

"You sound knackered. You're taking care of yourself?"

"I just left your watchful guardianship this morning, Belle. There's not much trouble I could have gotten into yet."

"You know I worry about you. Someone has to."

"Says the woman having popcorn for dinner."

"How did you… this isn't about me," she tries to sound annoyed, but it's half-hearted. I put her on speaker phone so I can pull up the local delivery app and order her a proper meal.

"Mhmm, as I said I'm just fine. Thai or Chinese?"

"Well, we had Chinese last night."

"Thai is it," I chuckle and put in her usual order. With any luck they'll send the delivery bloke she's been sweet on, which will be enough to distract her from obsessing over Emma and me.

"You're a good man, Killian Jones. Remember that, ok?"

"Whatever you say."

"I'm serious, you're a good man."

"You would say that, you get to share my bed and I feed you."

"'Get' to share your bed? Yeah no, more like I grace your bed."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, book worm."

"Oh," she squeals, "do you think they'll send that delicious delivery guy? I sure hope so."

"Remember the communal furniture rule!"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," she laughs and goes silent for another long stretch. "You'll call me if you need anything?"

"Aye, love, I'll be back in a few days. Goodnight."

"'Night, Killian." I feel uncomfortably alone when the phone screen fades to black.

Emma is still out on the patio sitting in the swing and gently rocking back and forth, staring blankly out across the lawn towards the water. Every once in a while the sole of her ankle-high boot scrapes against the worn wood, it's an eerie echo through the otherwise silent house. At least she's wrapped in a thick, woolen blanket but I can still see her breath in the cold night air. The porch light reflects off of her wet cheeks and her eyes are even more swollen than they were before. I wish I could fix her. I want to climb inside her and tear out all of the parts that are dark and painful and destroy them forever. If only it were that easy.

"There's no finer view than the full moon on the sea," I test the waters with the safest thing I can think of as I close the door quietly behind me and lean against the frame. She just scoffs quietly and shakes her head without even looking at me. She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Cold tonight. Can I get you anything?"

"No," she says firmly. Her lips are trembling and her jaw clenches, I know she's trying not to let her teeth chatter in the wind. She's always been stubborn and hated showing any kind of weakness, at least that hasn't changed.

"Why don't you come inside, love? You're freezing."

"Why are you still here, Killian?" she bites out and stands up. She wobbles a little on her feet but steadies herself before throwing the blanket back on the swing. She's exhausted, it's obvious, and her cheeks aren't as full as they usually are. I wonder when she last ate a full meal or got a restful night's sleep, it might be worth the fight to make her dinner after all. She's running on empty but there's iron in her veins and steel in her spine. Her eyes are wide but hard and flinty. I'd recognize that look anywhere, her armour. That she's working so hard to hide from me opens a deep wound that won't soon heal.

"I think that should be obvious." I answer blandly and shuffle out of her way as she charges through the door, back into the warmth of the living room. Hypothermia averted.

"I didn't think you'd actually show up."

"What do you wish for me to say, Swan?"

"I don't care about anything you have to say," she says, clearly struggling to control her emotions. She throws a tasseled throw pillow back on the sofa and scrubs the tears off her cheeks. "Do you have any idea how badly Liam just wanted to spend time with you? He bought a plane ticket for you every Christmas since you left on the off chance that you could put down whatever the hell you've been occupied with long enough to be a part of this family again."

"This family seems to have gotten by just fine in my absence," I shrug coolly but it kills me to know that. It hurts to think of Liam stretching his teacher salary to buy a holiday-rate cross-country flight. That isn't cheap. I can't even justify it by telling myself that he was doing it out of some selfish ulterior motive because that just isn't Liam, or wasn't Liam I guess.

"You could rarely be bothered to take his phone calls," she's trying to yell at me but her voice is cracking and I can already see the tears trailing down her cheeks again. "God, Killian! Would it have been so damn hard to just return more than one call a month? The worst part about it is that he was never disappointed in you or pissed, and he had every right to be. He defended you every single time. You were on an eternal second chance in his mind. You could do no wrong, and he gave you far more credit than you deserve for abandoning us… _him_. For abandoning your brother."

"I'm bloody sorry for putting you both out so badly," it's not an apology, it's sarcasm and I know it. This is Killian Jones 101: sarcasm is _my_ armour. When I'm happy it's good natured, when I'm upset it's a weapon. And we're definitely in the territory of the latter now except I'm not upset, I'm shattered.

"You didn't put me out, I've learned to hate you since you left," she growls and the iciness in her beautiful green eyes is something I've never seen before.

"Right, well nice catching up with you, Mrs. Jones."

She charges at me with the kind of fury that, under other circumstances, would be a major turn on. Her fist is already balled up and I know that I'm going to be nursing a matching handprint on the other side of my face. I catch her wrist and squeeze just enough to let her know I'm not in the mood for theatrics. She gasps in shock and tries to pull away.

"Don't. Ever. Do that again. Love," I growl and tug her a few inches closer. I can hear her breath hitch in her throat and the pulse in her wrist thrums against my fingers a little faster.

"Let me go," she whispers shakily and tries to pull away again, wobbling on her feet.

"Are you going to keep your bloody hands to yourself?" her skin is warm and soft, my fingers wrap around her entire wrist and she seems so fragile and unlike the Emma I knew.

"You deserved it."

"We both know that I didn't," I spit and shove her wrist away from me, more roughly than I mean to, and she stumbles slightly. She's managed to tangle me up into knots again without even meaning to, she still has no idea what she does to me. "This was a damned mistake."

"Where the hell are you going now?" she calls after me hoarsely as I yank my jacket on.

"Not that it's your concern, but I'm going to find a room."

"You might as well stay here tonight, Mother Superior will be here early tomorrow to go over passages before the funeral."

"I'll get a room," I bite my tongue against another tirade because she's being irrational and I know she doesn't mean to be.

"Fine! Do whatever the hell you want, Killian, you always do!"

"You're angry that I'm here, you're angry that I'm leaving, what the bloody hell do you want?" I snap, trying desperately to remember all of Liam's lessons on compassion and patience.

"Like you even care," she yells back, color flushing through her cheeks.

"I'm only going to ask you one time, Swan, what do you want?"

"Stop saying my name like that!"

"Sod this," I growl and swipe a piece of scrap paper from the counter and scribble onto it. "This is my mobile if you actually need something other than to yell at me. What time do I need to be here tomorrow?"

"Walking out again, leaving is what you're good at, huh?"

"What time tomorrow?" I ask and hope that my exasperation is obvious. She's grieving and exhausted, making her irrational, this isn't the Swam I know… at least I keep telling myself that. She just looks at me and back to the wall of pictures behind me. "Swan, what time?"  
"For what?"  
"Mother Superior, what time do I need to be here in the morning?" I ask again and try not to grind my teeth too much. She's staring at the pictures again and doesn't even seem to hear me. "Never mind, I'll be back at 8."  
"Elsa and Regina have been staying over all week," she says quietly, her voice fumbling and cracking over the words like she can barely hold herself together. When I turn around she has her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes are shining with unshed tears.

"Swan—"

"Please don't leave, Killian. I know you don't want to stay here and I know I don't have the right to ask, but please just… don't leave?"

"I'll ring Elsa, I'm sure she'd be happy to come over."

"Killian, please, I won't get in your way, I promise," she asks, grabbing at the leather of my sleeve, panicked and wide-eyed. It's a whole side of her that I hate seeing. My Emma wasn't scared of anything, she was strong and good at being alone. The pale, trembling Emma before me with her tear-stained cheeks and shaking hands is a shell of the old Emma. I know they say love changes a person, but I'm more inclined to think that love is weakness. It made Emma breakable, then it broke her.

"Whatever you want, Swan," I sigh in defeat. She throws herself against me with such force she nearly knocks the wind out of me, not that I can breathe anyways with how tightly her arms are wound around my neck.

It was a bloody stupid mistake to come here; it was hard enough to fight my feelings for this woman from three thousand miles away. Now that I know how warm her skin still burns against mine? I don't stand a chance.

Bloody hell, I still want her. I wish I didn't, but I do.


	5. Chapter 5

I grab my bags out of the rental car and slam the boot harder than I intend to, cursing my bad judgement, cursing Emma, cursing everything in this god forsaken town. In all of thirty minutes the woman has managed to fuck me up all over again. I know it's not her fault that I can't get past everything that happened between us, but that fact that she can't even see it pisses me off. She's not a stupid woman by any means but she's so bloody oblivious that I just want to shake some sense into her. From our history I already know that when one of us is in a bad mood it can get ugly but when both of us are pushed to our limits, it's gelignite. The time I sprained my neck during make up sex was a testament to how bad the fight was and it wasn't even an unusually tumultuous argument.

I find the small stainless steel flask in my suitcase that I usually keep in my desk at work for "emergencies."It's hard to find good rum most places so I usually bring my own, good thing I had the presence of mind to grab it for this trip. Something tells me Captain Morgan will be my best friend and closest confidante until I'm safely back in LA. I contemplate emptying the flask in a few hearty drinks, but settle for just a nip. After all, I'm going to have to make it last. I take a good look at the stars above, they're so much brighter and more brilliant here than at home, where the city lights drown them out. I suppose that's one thing worth missing here.

The twenty yard walk back up the porch stairs feels oddly like walking to my execution, but I try to shake those dark thoughts out of my head. I'm doing this for Liam. He would have wanted Emma taken care of, he would have wanted her safe. If that means me sticking around and suffering living purgatory for the weekend, then so be it.

"You scared me," Emma jumps when the front door slams behind me, echoing throughout the house.

"Sorry love," I grumble, hoping it at least seems like I mean it.

"We… uh… we left your room the way it was," she says and shifts uncomfortably. It shouldn't be this awkward between us, but alas. She's changed out of her rumpled mourning dress and is in a long knit sweater with the sleeves pulled over her hands and a pair of too-large sweatpants that I'm sure belonged to my brother. "I'm going to stay in the guest room if you need anything."

"Sleep well, Swan," I force a smile and nod, starting to haul my bags upstairs. The thought of her sleeping alone in the room meant for occasional visitors hits me harder than I think it should.

"Hey Killian," she says quietly and is fussing with the hem of her sweater and refusing to meet my gaze. "I'm glad you're home, I'm sorry I didn't say that before."

I don't know what to say in reply because I'm not sure there are words sufficient to answer her. I settle for another nod and continue up to my old room. The door is open and the light is already on, Emma must have done it while I was getting my bags.

I hated this room. It's small and musty, it's frigid in the winter and a veritable kiln in the summer but it has the best view of the harbor and the sunrise. I'm sure if I looked in the closet the collection of model ships that Liam and I meticulously tended to as children would still be there. It's the room where Emma and I exchanged V-cards. I knew that I was her first, but she doesn't know that she was mine. I talked a big game but the truth is that I was waiting for Emma. At first we were just friends messing around and learning about the birds and the bees but, like everything else, that went to hell.

 _Flashback_

"I'm kind of tired tonight, can't we just make dinner and watch a movie or something?" Emma sighs and throws herself on my bed, making herself comfortable against the pillows that live on the side she's adopted as "hers." She smiles sweetly at me and pats the empty span of mattress next to her. "And by 'we' I mean you and by 'dinner' I mean grilled cheese."

"We can do that after. Come on, Swan, you were 'tired' on Wednesday, too," I whine and flop down dramatically next to her. I roll over onto my side and twist her hair around my finger, it's beyond me how it's always so soft. "You're neglecting me, love."

"You could get a girlfriend, you know," she smirks and pokes me playfully in the ribs where she (and only she) knows that I'm ticklish.

"And ruin our perfect arrangement? You wound me, Swan," I pout and it's not that I haven't thought about it before, I have. Specifically I've thought extensively about dropping the friends-with-benefits pretense we've become so good at and going all in with Emma. Any man in his right mind would be a lucky lad to call her his. I've not seen much of the world yet, but I already know that she's a rare woman. I'm nearly certain that when I'm old and grey I'll lament her as the one that got away. "Perhaps you just need to make more time your poor, forgotten Killian in your busy schedule."

"You know my dad has been giving me more responsibility at the station. I'll probably be deputy soon."

"Then we should celebrate," I smile my best charming smile, the one I know she always melts for.

"Well when you put it _that_ way…"

"That's what I thought," I smile and pounce on her. She squeaks and giggles. She's gorgeous against my duvet, her pale skin and light hair a stark contrast to the dark red linen. I should congratulate myself more often that it's my bed she's falling into every week. She's kind and funny and smart and her tight little body is a delicious bonus. It drives Liam crazy because he keeps telling me that she deserves better, some rot about romance and being a gentleman. He's pissed because he thinks I'm using her, little does my virtuous brother know that she begs for everything I do to her. Behind her innocent small-town-sheriff's-daughter veneer she's as tempting a siren as any from the old sailors' tales, this whole arrangement was her idea to begin with. She may blush sweetly when Graham, that empty-headed git she works with, tells her that her dress is pretty but as soon as my bedroom door closes behind her she wraps her long legs around my waist and begs me to fuck her hard. I'm nothing if not a gentleman and when my lady makes a request I come through.

We're usually straight to the point. We tried the whole foreplay thing, but it was strange kissing her. It was easier to keep sex soundly in the "just sex" box without kissing and stuff like that. Sure, a lot of the intimacy was lost but it was easier to be friends while the sun was still up if I wasn't thinking about how sweet her lip balm is or how just one kiss is never enough for her. I know she liked it because sometimes she would kiss me for no reason when we were watching TV or when I'd stop by the station to bring her coffee. It was getting too real and I didn't want her getting the wrong idea about what our situation was so the kissing had to go. It's not an ideal arrangement but given the choice between sex and no sex… that was easy really.

"Wait, babe, slow down a little," she says softly when she grabs my hand that's working to get the damned button fly of her jeans undone.

Everything about it catches me off guard; going slow, the pet name, the tenderness in her voice. These aren't things that apply to us. We're friends who sleep together. We're just doing what _feels_ good and it's not supposed to mean anything more. I promised her it would never _be_ anything more. I know I shouldn't but with the softness in her voice and her eyes I can't stop myself.

"Aye, love," I nod and break the rules. I kiss her. She kisses me back and trails her fingers through my hair, pulling just hard enough to make me wish we did this all the time. She's soft but demanding and I want to give her everything that I have and everything that I am. Instead of trying not to be loud enough to rouse Liam's suspicion like usual she whispers my name in a breathy prayer and it ruins me. We touch each other everywhere and when I finally press into her our fingers are woven together. Everything about it is different, everything. For everything we've done, we've never done this— I've never made love her before.

Her back bows gorgeously and she comes with my name as a sigh on her lips and its the sexiest thing I've ever seen, _ever_. Not that I mind the nail marks that are usually scored into my back or the filthy remarks, but there's something about her giving in to the pleasure I'm giving her while looking in my eyes that gets me. I was hoping for a few more rounds tonight since it's been a while but the way that she leaves a languid trail of kisses from my shoulder to my jaw as she comes down from her high makes me lose it. It should be a blow to my ego that we went one for one, but she's warm and boneless in my arms and there's a soft look in her eyes that I haven't seen before. I lie next to her for several minutes that could have been hours wondering what in the hell just happened.

"So… the autumn block party is this weekend. Wanna go?" her voice is light and beautiful and it makes me want to say yes in a million different ways and that scares the hell out of me. I shouldn't want to take her to some ridiculous town event. I shouldn't be wondering what color dress she'll be wearing. I shouldn't be thinking that the new French restaurant downtown might be nice to take her to or that she'd feel good in my arms for a slow dance. I definitely shouldn't be thinking about how much I wanted to do whatever it is that we just did again and again. Friends who sleep together don't plan evenings out with dinner and dancing, that would be dating which would infer a romantic relationship. That's not us, it can't be us.

"Swan," I groan and turn away from her. If she sees my face she'll see the lie just below the surface.

"Come on Killian, it could be fun," she whines and curls up against my back. This intimacy is too easy and it feels way too right. This is exactly why we don't bloody kiss. This was never part of the deal, and for good reason: she wants to stay here and build a life, I'm saving everything I make on the docks to get out. She's the kind of woman a man stays for, and the only thing that scares me more than the warmth blossoming in my chest twists her fingers in my hair is the thought of being anchored in this small town forever. She won't leave and I can't stay. It's as simple as that. Truth be told, if everything were up to me she'd be mine. I'd whisk her away and show her the world and every experience she reads about in all of those book of hers, she'd be my queen. I would make her the happiest woman in the world or die trying. But this isn't a fairy tale, this is the real world; in this world I have nothing to offer her but a murky, uncertain future with a high probability of complete ruin. I'm not good enough for her, no where near it, but I am good enough to know that I'd be damned before I'd put out that flame in her eyes by being a complete, utter disappointment. She hasn't seen it yet, but Emma Swan is meant for greatness and she deserves far more than an orphan from Hackney with little more than a high school diploma to his name.

"Look, we promised nothing was going to change."

"But nothing _is_ changing," she giggles and rolls her eyes, pulling me onto my back and crossing her arms over my chest and resting her chin on her hands to stare at me with her insanely green eyes. "Stop being weird about it, weirdo."

"I'm not being weird about, I'm just saying," I offer and trail my fingers down the lovely expanse of her back exposed where the blankets have gathered her hips. Her skin is softer than I'd ever realized before.

"You're totally being weird about it," she blushes with a small smile as her fingers dance over my collar bone. I can tell she wants to kiss me but I turn my head and push her away just enough to get some space between us.

"We're having fun, alright, and this…it's _really_ good but I'm not going to date you, Swan. I made that perfectly clear. We talked about this, the sooner you really understand that, the better."

Her eyes go wide and the lovely pink across her cheeks flares into a crimson red. She recoils from me instantly, pulling so far away in one motion I know I'll never be able to reach her again.

"I have to go," she mumbles with a crack in her voice and sniffles, holding my blankets close to her naked body. The look of shame and embarrassment in her eyes is so foreign, I hate that I put it there.

"Come on, don't do that, Swan. You're taking this all the wrong way, love. I only meant that we agreed on all this: we said no dating, if I take you to the thing that's a date, therefore breaks the rules. You agreed to the rules, too."

"You're such a jerk, Killian. I didn't ask you to 'take' me on a date, I asked if you would go with me like you did last year and the year before that and every other year since we were seven. It's not like I'm groveling to you to date me. You've made it abundantly clear on multiple occasions that you have absolutely no interest in me beyond getting off a few times a week when it's convenient for you," she snaps and climbs out of bed, throwing her clothes on angrily. Is that really how I've made her feel? We were both supposed to know, and accept, the score.

"You know that's not true, love," I awkwardly try to get dressed on the other side of the room. "I've been nothing but honest with you. You promised that nothing was going to change."

"The only thing that's changed is you!" she seethes at me through tears as she clutches her sweater to her chest, her make up leaving two thick trails down her face. She's hurt and she's angry that it's showing, she swipes viciously at her cheeks to dry her tears but all it does is make her face even more red. If I were a better man I'd be gathering her into my arms and kissing her hair until she had no need for tears. If I were a better man I'd be honest with her about why I can't be hers. _If I were a better man_ … "This was a huge mistake."

"Come on, don't say that. What we have is really good. I just don't want to mess this up, Swan," I try to defend myself but I know I've already lost.

"You just did," she sniffled, her voice starkly soft with all the finality of a last goodbye. I'm stupid enough to let her go, thinking that I'll just patch everything up tomorrow by offering to cook for her at her place after work.

The next day I waited for her all afternoon at Granny's, our usual lunch spot, staking out our table to make sure I didn't miss her on her way home from the station. When I finally saw her she was sitting on one of the benches outside the Sheriff station talking to Graham. She was smiling and her cheeks were pink. She kept tucking her hair behind her ear like she does when she's shy and it aroused a foreign and uncomfortable feeling in my gut that I now know was blinding jealousy. She had her shiny new deputy star pinned to her red leather jacket and Graham was beaming; I'm sure he was thinking that this could finally be his chance with my Emma. She sat on the bench for a moment after he walked away looking down at her phone. I wanted to take back everything I said the night before; I don't want to go to the block party with her, I want to take her, as my date, as my girlfriend, whatever she desires. I want her to dress up for me. I want to take her to dinner and kiss on her parents' front porch. I want her all to myself. I want everything from her, just for me. I don't care about what I have to sacrifice to be with her, I'm willing and ready to do anything. I can change for her, I can be better, I will be.

She starts to walk away, still looking down at her phone and my despair must be a little more evident than I anticipated.

"If you're waiting for the perfect time to go after her, that would have been it, Jones," Granny Lucas comments flatly, leaning against the counter and sipping from her coffee mug.

"I… she—" I stutter, hoping my blushing isn't as obvious as my lurking. It's bloody humiliating to be called out by the proprietress of the only restaurant worth eating at in town. If it weren't for her superb onion rings, I'd be wary to ever show my face here again.

"You're going to miss your window if you don't get out there, scoot!" Granny dismisses with a wave.

"Swan," I call and jog down the block after her. Her eyes are unreadable when she turns around and I don't get the brilliant smile I usually do. She actually seems uncomfortable, like she was hoping I wouldn't see her.

"Killian, hey, what's up?"

"I was thinking about last night, and truth be told I was a complete tosser. It'd be my honor to go to the party with you and maybe dinner, too?"

"Thanks, but I can't go anymore, I picked up an extra shift at the station."

"Right, of course, congratulations by the way. I see you made deputy, quite impressive, that."

"Thanks," she mutters and shifts uncomfortably. I take one of her hands in mine and brush my thumb over her knuckles. Her breath hitches and her fingers tighten ever so slightly around mine.

"Can I take you to dinner tonight? To celebrate."

"Oh, umm… my mom is making a roast tonight."

"Tomorrow then? The full nine, dress up, dinner, wine?"

"Killian… it's fine… really," she stutters and pulls her hand away, shoving it safely back in her pocket. "Don't worry about it. I have to go."

She didn't say it then, but I knew that something big and important between us had broken. I'd lost her.

 _Present_

They haven't really touched my room in all of the years I've been gone. The red duvet is still on the bed. There are a few boxes in the corner with my name scrawled on them in Liam's jagged chicken scratch hand. A fine layer of dust has accumulated on the lamp and nightstand, but other than that, it's exactly the same way I left it when I moved out eight years ago. A silver glint on the dresser catches my attention. It's the pair of silver cuff links Liam gave all of us as groomsmen's gifts. Mine are engraved with the same Old English 'J' that his were. They could use a good polish but the engraving is still stark against the silver. I sit on the floor and lean against the foot of my bed rolling the cool metal against my palm and for the first time since I got the call reality hits me.

Liam is gone.

I'm alone now.

I'm not proud of it, but I let myself cry well into the night and it doesn't do anything to make the hurt more bearable. I'm silently thankful that Emma didn't want to be alone tonight because I don't either. Even though she's on the other side of the house knowing she's here helps.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi again! Thanks everyone who has read and reviewed, I appreciate it so much! Official angst warning for this chapter, with a little M for themes and language. Enjoy!**

I slept terribly, if you can even call it that. I spent more hours than not wearing a path in the wooden floor pacing the length of my small room thinking about Liam, about Emma, about Storybrooke, about the whole bloody lot. It started out as berating myself for letting her get to me again and ended with the crushing anxiety that today would bring: my brother's funeral, seeing the Charmings again, coming back to an empty room again at the end of the day. I was almost relieved when I heard the doorbell ring shortly after dawn.

"Killian," Mother Superior smiles and stands gracefully with her arms open at the bottom of the stairs when I finally muster the courage to make an appearance. She was one of the few, along with the Charmings, who looked after Liam and I when we were lads. She saw to our schooling to ensure we'd not be illiterate urchins. The last time I saw her she was wrangling a crop of wild children at Emma and Liam's wedding. Her dark hair has some grey in it now, but she still has the same serene, peaceful demeanor she always did. "It's good to see you, dear. I wish it was a better circumstance that brought you back to us."

"Is that Killian Jones, I hear?" Snow's voice echoes through the foyer and she appears like a dervish. Before I could even respond she's wrapping me in a hug that is surprisingly hearty for a woman of her size. Next to her effervescence and ever-cheerful demeanor it's easy to see how much Emma truly takes after her father, even if she does have Snow's deep green eyes. Anyone would be forgiven for thinking Emma was their own, but the truth is she was an orphan like Liam and me. The bloody fools who brought her into this world left her in a carseat by the interstate; David responded to the call and fell in love with tiny Emma no sooner than he stepped out of his squad car, bringing her home to his wife who was just-as-quickly bewitched. They adopted her as quickly as the great state of Maine allowed and loved her as their own. She may have been a stray like us for a short moment but she never felt the sting of being unwanted, for which I will forever be grateful to the Charmings. "I'm so sorry about Liam. How are you, sweetheart? Are you ok?"

"I'm managing just fine. It's good to be home," I offer with a smile and I actually mean it, until Emma scoffs and shakes her head from the corner. Snow ignores her and finally loosens her grip enough for me to breathe again. When she looks at me it's strangely comforting in a way I didn't expect it would be. Snow is as close to a mother as I can ever remember having, she's the only person who has ever told me she loved me. I was six the first time she told me, it was shortly after our father disappeared. Liam was doing his best, but it was the third day I'd showed up late to school with little more than an apple and toast in a paper sack. Snow took me home with her and Emma and the end of the day and made a roast for dinner. David came in with Liam and we sat down around the table for a dinner like I'd never seen before. Snow helped Emma and me with our homework, fractions or some rot, while David and Liam worked on something in the garage. It was the first night of many Liam and I stayed at the Charmings, and when Snow tucked us into warm cozy beds that night she kissed me on the forehead, told me to sleep well and that she loved me. I didn't know what to say because no one had ever told me that before, so I settled for a mumbled good night and spent half of the night awake wondering what I didn't have a family like the Charmings.

"When did you get in? It's such a long flight, all the way from California. You must be starving, can I make you something? We have waffles and bacon and eggs. Oh, I can make you an omelette. How about some coffee? I brought the Sumatra that you like," Snow offers as she straightens my collar, just like she used to do every morning when I got to school. "I'll bet you haven't had real maple bacon since you moved."

"Mom," Emma says and clears her throat, shooting her mother a meaningful glance. Her arms are crossed defiantly over her chest. While she's intimidating, I'm glad to see that the broken Emma from last night is gone. "If he's hungry, he knows where the kitchen is."

"Give your mother a break, Emma, you know she can't help herself," David smiles as he emerges from the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee. Of all of the people here I dreaded seeing him most, even more than Emma. David was like a father to me and Emma is the light of his life, I let him down on both counts. By all counts, he should hate me, probably more than Emma does. He's too kind to make a scene with Mother Superior present, but I don't expect a warm reception. Much to my surprise he sets down his mug and pulls me into one of his famous bear hugs with a real, genuine smile that chokes me up a little. "It's good to see you, son."

"You've gotten so tall. David, can you believe how tall he's gotten?" Snow continues, all the while straightening my jacket and fixing my hair. You'd think I was a right mess by the way she's preening me. David just gives me a pitying smile over the rim of his cup and doesn't answer. Seeing as I was twenty-five when I left, I doubt I've gotten any taller. "And handsome, too. You're still taking good care of yourself, aren't you? You're wearing sunscreen aren't you? Even a tan can damage your skin, you know."

"Yes ma'am, nary a day goes by that Belle doesn't remind me about SPF, eating my vegetables, and getting eight hours of sleep. I assure you that I'm in good hands."

"Belle? What a beautiful name! Is she your girlfriend?" Snow grins, out of the corner of my eye I can see Emma snap to attention. "We'd love to meet her, wouldn't we David? What is she like? How long have you been together?"

"Oh… Belle's not my… girlfriend," I stutter awkwardly. It's not the first time people have gotten our relationship confused, it happens regularly actually, but it's the first time that it's thrown me for a loop.

"Snow, if you're going to badger the poor guy at least let him get coffee first," David intervenes and puts his arm around his wife's shoulder to shepherd her away. Snow's chatter fades as they make their way to the living room, but not before I can very distinctly hear her giddily tell David _it's so nice to have him back home again, isn't it Charming?_

"Belle is my friend and roommate, we own our firm together," I offer in explanation to Emma as soon as her parents are safely out of ear shot.

"Good for _Belle_ ," she says flatly and she couldn't look more disinterested if she tried. "Having a lease and a business makes it harder for you to walk away, I guess."

"Swan—"

"Let's just get this over with," she snaps and brushes past me, driving her shoulder into mine on the way through the door.

It's progress at least I suppose, she didn't punch me in the face again. I swallow down a cup of coffee as quickly as the scalding hot temperature allows, knowing I'll need every bit of help I can get to make it through the morning. Mother Superior, Snow, David, and Emma are sitting around the coffee table in the living room. Emma is sandwiched between her parents and glares at me while I settle in the arm chair across from them.

"Do you have any particular readings in mind, Emma?" Mother Superior asks softly, making a quick mark on her notepad.

"This one please," Emma mumbles and hands over a half sheet of paper.

"Longfellow, this is beautiful, Emma," Mother Superior sniffles and dabs at her eyes. Snow pulls Emma into a hug and her shoulders shake slightly.

I don't even have to look at that bloody sheet of paper. I already know the overly-sentimental rot she chose:

 _Sooner or later we begin to understand_

 _that love is more than verses on Valentines,_

 _and romance in the movies._

 _We begin to know that love is here and now, real and true,_

 _the most important thing in our lives._

 _For love is the creator of our favourite memories_

 _and the foundation of our fondest dreams._

Yeah, fuck that.

"Killian, do you have anything you'd like to read?" Mother Superior asks and I hate to admit that it catches me off guard. I haven't thought about it at all, to be honest. What is there to say really? Liam was my hero, he was the best man I'll ever know. He was a good man, a good brother and, by all accounts, a good husband. I'd gladly trade my life for his if it meant he'd get more years of taking ridiculous pictures for the walls of the home he built with Emma. But no one else needs to know that.

"No, ma'am, nothing from me," I mutter. Snow and David glance at each other with a look I can only place as pity while Emma narrows her eyes even more in my direction.

The rest of the planning goes relatively smoothly and Mother Superior bids a tearful goodbye before the ceremony this afternoon. The Charmings leave to get changed and whatever else one is supposed to do before burying a son-in-law and it's just Emma and I, alone, again.

"You really couldn't be bothered to write down a few words, could you?" Emma asks and pins me with a glare far harsher than the ones she's already thrown my way this morning.

"My thoughts are my business," I say and try to make it clear that it's not open for discussion. This isn't a road she wants to go down with me. She has yet to realize that she's not the only one hurting. My patience only extends so far and she's on my last nerve.

"I'm sure they're profound," she shoots back and that's the breaking point.

"Fuck off, Swan," I shout, even though I don't intend to. "You loathe me, I get it, I don't need to keep hearing it at every bloody turn. You're not the only one on the planet dealing with this right now. You may have been the bloody center of Liam's world but you aren't the only person he mattered to. Get over yourself and your bloody baggage for one day. I'll be out of your hair soon enough, and until then you can keep your opinion to yourself."

"I didn't—" she stutters with wide eyes.

"Save it, Swan, I've heard enough," I retreat to my room to text Belle for some measure of sanity, leaving Emma gaping in the foyer.

As expected, the service was appropriately morose and depressing. It wasn't what Liam would have wanted. I might not have been present as of late, but I know my brother. He loved Emma, he loved Storybrooke, and he loved life. He always did, even in the absolute worst, darkest days of our lives he was smiling and cracking jokes. The day we found ourselves fatherless he just smiled and said to me "the mettle of a hero was never forged in quiet, Killian." He would have wanted his life celebrated; he would have wanted a cask of brown ale at cellar temperature and six hours of terrible Fleetwood Mac karaoke. The last thing he would have wanted would be for everyone he cared about the stand around in the rain for an hour and a half, soaked to the bone, and crying into an overly-sentimental book of Psalms and poetry. That just isn't Liam's style.

Worst of all was watching Emma crumble all over again. If I thought standing by my brother while he married her was hard, peeling Emma off of Liam's casket and trying to hold her together while they lowered him into the ground was a hundred times worse. She was in my arms when her knees gave out under her. I tried my best to shield her from prying eyes, I know she hates looking weak in front of other people. We made a quick exit and found a big willow to settle behind where no one could see her and she didn't have to see the cemetery crew working to bury her husband.

I don't know what else to do so I stand there, uselessly, while she cries. I don't even have a handkerchief to offer her. Bad form.

"Come, love, let's go home," I offer as soon as I notice her starting to shiver in the cold; she surprises me by taking my offered hand without a fight. When I pull her up she collapses against me.

"We can't leave him here, Killian, we can't leave him all alone here. He hates the rain," she sobs and starts melting into the ground again.

"Up you go, darling, it will be ok," I try to sound reassuring but she's right, for as much as he loved everything else, Liam bloody _hated_ the rain. Emma can barely stand upright so I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the car.

The drive home is mostly silent except for the occasional sniffle from the passenger side. It's raining earnestly by the time we hit the interstate and it takes longer than I'd hoped it would to get back into town.

"Do you need anything?" I ask as we pass the flickering neon sign outside Granny's Diner. The widow Lucas attended the service along with the rest of the town, but it looks like she's back behind the lunch counter serving a dining room full of people dressed in black. Life goes on. "Grilled cheese and onion rings?"

"I'm not hungry," Emma mumbles and lays her head against the window.

"You have to eat, love."

"I said I'm not hungry," she growls and scrubs at her cheeks with a balled fist.

"Course not, my mistake."

"I don't hate you," she says quietly, barely audible over the squeak of the wiper blades against the windscreen. "Earlier… you said that you know I hate you. I don't. So… that's um… that I guess."

Her gravel driveway is slightly treacherous with the rain and it makes me glad we took the rental instead of the ancient bright yellow Beetle she insists on still driving. She follows me into the foyer of the house robotically, her face completely empty. She stops in front of a framed picture of her and Liam wrapped up in each others' arms in front of a covered bridge. There are dozens of photographs on their walls: Liam and me at his discharge ceremony, Liam and Emma at the town fish fry, Emma and me at our high school graduation. I don't know what's so special about the photo that she chose, but they both look happy.

"I'm a widow," she laughs hysterically, running her fingers over the glass of the picture. "Liam was a school teacher, a freaking school teacher! Four years in the Navy in Iraq and Afghanistan, not a scratch, then he's driving down Main Street and… How stupid is that? It's the dumbest thing in the world. Everything was perfect that night, we made a new lasagna recipe and it was really good. He went out to get a pack of batteries because the smoke detector wouldn't stop chirping. _Batteries_ , Killian! I told him to just leave the damn thing off the wall for the night but he was worried it wasn't safe to sleep without at least one in the house. He was worried that we'd get trapped in a fire! It's just the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. He left and an hour later Graham was at the door telling me he was dead."

"Swan—"

"He's… Killian, he's _dead_. He's gone forever. He's dead," she collapses against the wall, clutching the photo frame to her chest. And we're right back to where we were at the cemetery. "It doesn't make any sense, it's not fair."

"It never is, love," I offer lamely and slide down besides her so I can at least try to comfort her in a hug. I manage to get the frame away from her before she breaks it. I get a better look at the photo, Emma's holding her hand up to the camera and showing off the ring that Liam was so eager to show me when he bought it. It's a photo from their engagement.

 _Flashback_

"Hey, Killian, do you have a moment?" Liam practically jumped off the couch when I walked through the door, it's no small miracle I can even remember that night for as much as I'd had to drink. He seemed nervous, which was a departure from his usual calm, even-keeled demeanor. That in and of itself was unsettling and I was almost certain he'd found out about my most recent misstep. Neal and I had gotten a little too far into a bottle of rum and ended up breaking a few windows at the Cannery for fun. "I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Now?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"If you don't mind," he nodded and shifted his weight between his feet again. He held out his hand, motioning to our old, broken-down sofa and ran his hand through his hair. "It's important."

"If this is about Friday night, Liam, I'll take care of it," I offered preemptively.

"No it's not— what happened Friday night? You know what? Never mind, it can wait," he waved his hand. "What I want to talk to you about is… Emma."

"Emma Swan?" I asked and scoffed, of course he wanted to talk about her. Liam's two favorite topics were: how to fix me and his magical relationship with Emma Swan. "What about her?"

"Well, you know we've been together for almost a year now and things are going well. Very well, actually. She's a… she's very special to me."

"Liam, if this is going to be another speech about the virtues of opening your heart to love, I'd rather not right now," I groaned and dropped my head to the back of the couch. He became quite the romance expert since he started dating Emma. My Emma. "I'm tired, mate."

"No, it's nothing like that. I uh… I'd like to ask Emma to marry me," he said nervously. It's not that I didn't expect someone to put a ring on her finger someday, I just didn't expect that it would be my brother. Emma Swan, my Emma, would be my sister-in-law. "Killian… what, uh, what do you think?"

"Does it matter I think?"

"To me it does."

"Eh, if she's makes you happy," I shrugged, feigning indifference and hoping that the nausea and dizziness I felt wasn't obvious.

"Come now, Killian, I really want to know what you think. She'll be a part of this family and I know you were quite close for some time."

"She's a little… prickly."

"That's not fair brother, you have to admit that you go out of your way to antagonize her on most occasions."

"Well she'll be your wife, not mine, so good luck," I said with finality and stood up a little too fast to finish drinking myself into a coma in my room away from the man who was doing his damnedest to destroy my life.

"I'm going down to Portland tomorrow to look at rings. Would you like to come?"

"As much as I would love to, brother, no can do. I have plans," like still being in said coma. "Take Elsa or Regina with you."

"Of course, capital idea. Well… goodnight then," he said and I knew he was disappointed in me and was too kind to say so.

 _Present_

"I wish it had been me," she says, her voice muffled against my jacket.

"Don't say that, Emma," it comes out more roughly than I intend for it to, but I pull her away from my chest so I can look her in the eyes. "Don't _ever_ say that again, not to me. My Emma is too strong for that."

"What if she's gone now, too?"

"She's still there."

"Make it go away, please, Killian," she whimpers and slides her hands up the inside of my suit jacket a little too slowly. "Just for tonight, just make it stop hurting for a little bit."

"Tell me what I can do, anything you need it's yours, love."

"Touch me," she says so clearly it startles me. Her fingers are already tugging at the knot in my tie. "Like you used to."

"What the devil are you doing?" I snap and grab her hands away from me because the soft pads of her fingers brush against my throat and I don't want to admit how good it feels. "You're upset, Swan, you don't know what you're saying."

"I need to feel something other than hurting," she says pulling her fingers out of my grip and tunneling them into my hair as she climbs into my lap.

"You'll regret this in the morning," I mumble even though my hands are already sliding over her hips, imagining was kind of knickers she has on under her black dress.

"I won't. Please Killian, I'll beg you if that's what you want," she whispers too close to my ear and pulls on my tie again. "Please, fuck me until I can't feel anything but you."

I have to think hard about it because I have to remind myself that it's not real. She doesn't want me, not really. She won't be making love to me. She's fucking me to dull the pain of losing her husband, my brother. This isn't playing house or building something special, this is two people completely inept to handle heartache attempting to deal with the biggest loss of their lives. I have to remember that. _None_ of this is real.

"You're going to bloody hate me for this," I protest weakly and drop my head against the wall behind me, and she will but you wouldn't know it by the way she's nipping at my neck and fidgeting with the buttons on my shirt.

"I won't."

I've never been able to say no to her. The pleading and the tears in her pretty green eyes finally break me and I'm going to hate myself even more for giving in to her. We're upstairs and out of our mourning clothes before I can think better of it. Once she kisses me, I'm gone. She's sweet and shy but when I kiss her back it's with the frustration of eight years of missing her and wanting her and having to create a life without her in it. I kiss her hard enough to bruise her pouty pink lips to make sure that she'll still be thinking about me tomorrow. My hands are a little rougher than I intend them to be. I want to apologize to her about it, but I can't trust my voice anymore than I can my hands.

Her knees cradle my hips just like they used to and when I finally press into her it feels like, physically at least, nothing has changed. She's just as tight as I remember and she still trembles when I kiss her neck just below her ear. She breathily asked me to slow down a few times and I tried, and failed. She may need me tonight but I've needed her for two thousand nights. She kissed me like she understood, almost like she was asking for my forgiveness. Being with her again was nothing like I imagined it would be. I thought of this moment a million times since I left. Sometimes it's light and fun, sometimes she's on top, sometimes she's in lace, sometimes leather. But in all of those fantasies my throat is never clamping shut and my eyes are never stinging with tears. I missed her.

I missed her _so much_.

Her skin is soft and warm, she tastes like vanilla and peaches. She's softer now. Her breasts are fuller and she doesn't wear a ring in her belly button anymore. Her smooth golden hair feels the same running through my fingers but she's wearing it in natural waves now instead of straightened like she used to. I didn't think it was possible for her to get anymore beautiful than she was the last time I saw her before I left for LA but she is. Her eyes are warm and clear and when her gaze meets mine I know that she's seeing me, that she's here with me, and not trying to escape into her own head. I don't know how to begin to thank her for that small kindness.

I can't breathe when she gasps my name and comes apart under me, taking me right under with her. The magnitude of my name on her lips again threatens to end me just like it nearly did all those years ago. She's never been far from my mind, even when I've been with other women, _especially_ when I've been with other women. They've all been nameless place holders for _this_ woman, my darling, my Emma. I have to bite my lip, hard enough to nearly draw blood, to stop myself from saying something foolish. She's the center of the universe who's gravity I've been trying in vain to escape. She's everything I've ever wanted and desperately needed. She destroys my entire existence with every steadying breath she takes as we come down from oblivion together. I let her soak into every cell of my body and I know that I won't be able to wash her out this time.

I lie on my back staring at the ceiling because I can't handle seeing the shame and disgust in Emma's eyes when she realizes what we've done. I know that she asked, practically begged for it, but I wouldn't be able to handle seeing her hate herself for fucking me. I hear the sheets shuffling next to me, but rather than running for sanctuary she's curling into my side. She wiggles and squirms until she's somehow in my arms with her head on my chest and her legs are tangled with mine. She still smells like peaches but the sweetness is dulled by sex and my cologne. It makes me possessive and primal. I don't ever want to let her go now that she's mine, no matter how temporarily that may be so.

"Can I stay here, just for tonight?" she asks shyly. I'm not confident I can even croak an answer around the lump in my throat so I settle for pulling the blankets around her shoulders and hold her a little more tightly.

"Thank you," she mumbles and kisses my chest. I'm in such deep shock that I don't even respond. It's not until her breathing evens out and her head becomes heavy on my chest that I lift my head to look at her. She's an angel, and right now she could even be my angel. Everything about her is so damned beautiful that I want to wake her up and wear her out all over again. She must have meant what she said about not hating me. Her touch was too tender and her eyes too soft to really hate me.

I'm certain she's asleep so I kiss the crown of her head and whisper my deepest secret to her, letting the darkness of my old room swallow it up and hide it away.

I still love her.

 **Thanks for reading!**


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